


Cranberries

by kashiichan



Series: Ineffable Holidays [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Assumptions are bad, Aziraphale is gayer than etc, Christmas, Crowley is demisexual, Demisexuality, Food-Lover Aziraphale (Good Omens), Holidays, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Other, feelings are hard, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashiichan/pseuds/kashiichan
Summary: After days of silence, Aziraphale visits Crowley's flat and finds him eating cranberries.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Holidays [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563442
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	Cranberries

"Crowley?" Aziraphale calls out, closing the door of the demon's flat behind him. He feels a bit guilty about just barging in, but tells himself that Crowley would have locked it[1] if he hadn't wanted company. "Are you here?"

"Dining room," Crowley calls back.

Aziraphale heads straight there and finds the demon sitting sideways on an ostentatious gold chair, both long legs slung casually over one of the arms as he fiddles with his mobile phone.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Crowley drawls, then frowns. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale says hastily. "Haven't heard a thing. You?"

"No news is good news," Crowley agrees. "Why're you here, then?"

"Oh, I do apologise," Aziraphale says, fiddling nervously with the hem of his waistcoat. "I knew I should have called first."

"It's fine, angel," Crowley shrugs. "You know I don't mind when you pop in. Though usually you just knock and I have to get up; this is better."

Aziraphale smiles tentatively at him. "You're glad to see me, then?"

"Always," Crowley agrees immediately, swinging his legs off the arm of the chair and dropping his feet to the floor. He's dressed smartly, as usual, but his feet are bare; he'd obviously not planned to go anywhere today. Aziraphale itches to examine the tiny overlapping scales—the demon habitually conceals his snake aspects, so Aziraphale hardly ever gets to really _look_ at them—but dropping to his knees at Crowley's feet would probably be dreadfully inappropriate. "What's up?"

"I haven't heard from you for almost a week," Aziraphale says. He's trying to sound casual, but doesn't quite manage it. "Thought I'd stop by."

"Unplanned?" Crowley asks, amused. "That's not like you."

"I was in the area," Aziraphale offers lamely.

Crowley raises a disbelieving eyebrow. His sunglasses have slipped down slightly on his nose, and the demon is looking at him over the top of the lenses. Aziraphale isn't used to dealing with the full intensity of Crowley's gaze while sober, and has to fight the instinct to look away[2].

"I just wanted to see you," Aziraphale admits quietly. "We've been spending a lot of time together over the last few decades, and I've become rather accustomed to... Well, to seeing you. I don't wish to smother you, my dear, but I missed you. I hope that's alright."

Crowley smiles crookedly at him, like he's trying not to grin. "Yeah, angel," he says softly, pushing his sunglasses back up with one finger. "That's fine with me."

"I thought perhaps we could go for a walk in the park," Aziraphale suggests, smiling back at him. "It was a bit chilly this morning, but the sun is out now."

"How romantic," Crowley teases, and Aziraphale feels his face warm. He never quite manages to prevent that particular reaction; Crowley always finds great enjoyment in provoking it. "I'll get my boots."

The demon puts his phone down on the table, and it's only then that Aziraphale notices [the bowl](https://imgur.com/X3UgFCO).

"Were you _snacking_?" the angel asks, surprised.

Crowley freezes, still perched on his ridiculous chair. "Yes?" he says at last, when it's clear that Aziraphale isn't going to add anything else. "So?"

"I didn't know you ate," Aziraphale admits. "Without me, I mean."

"Not often," Crowley shrugs, "but sometimes I get peckish."

"And you prefer to snack alone?"

"I didn't think you'd be upset," Crowley frowns.

"I'm not _upset_ ," Aziraphale says, flustered. "I'm worried I've interrupted your meal."

"Snacks aren't meals," Crowley says firmly. "Meals are with you, at restaurants." He grins suddenly. "Or odd little stalls[3] on the water."

Reassured, Aziraphale takes a step forwards. "What are you eating?"

"You wouldn't like it," the demon sighs, but picks up the bowl anyway. It's a Waterford piece—intricate patterns expertly carved into fine crystal—but Crowley mustn't think too highly of it; the design is almost obscured by wear[4].

"Some kind of fruit," Aziraphale guesses.

Crowley sighs. "Cranberries."

"I like cranberries," Aziraphale huffs, and Crowley rolls his eyes.

"You like cranberry _juice_[5]," he points out, "which barely counts. Hardly any cranberries left in that."

"Oh, really?" Aziraphale asks, surprised. "What about cranberry sauce?"

"Mostly sugar."

"In that case," Aziraphale says thoughtfully, "I don't think I've ever actually tried a cranberry."

"They're not sweet," Crowley warns him, but holds out the bowl anyway. There's a thin layer of bright liquid at the bottom; the bowl must have been full at one point, but it's almost empty now.

"Is that why you like them?" Aziraphale says, moving forwards. Crowley's already-parted legs twitch slightly wider, as if he's making more space for Aziraphale, and the angel wonders what it would be like to step into it. Maybe he could even _sit down on Crowley's lap_. He's shocked at the brazenness of his thoughts, and picks up one of the cranberries to distract himself.

"They're so sour they're almost sharp," Crowley shrugs, unaware of the angel's inner turmoil. "Gotta love a fruit that defies expectations."

Aziraphale gently presses the berry between two fingers, testing the give of the skin, before placing the fruit on the palm of his other hand.

"It's food," Crowley says dryly. "You put it in your mouth."

Aziraphale decides to ignore that statement. "I like the colour," he says, peering at it closely. "It's not just one shade of red; there are all sorts of gradients."

"Just _eat_ it, angel," Crowley says, exasperated. "I need to know if you're gonna steal the rest of them."

"How rude," Aziraphale huffs, but raises his palm and tips the small fruit into his mouth.

Crowley watches the angel suck on the berry, rolling it around in his mouth, before finally biting down. After a few moments he makes a face, nose wrinkling adorably, then swallows.

Crowley has to swallow hard himself before he can speak. "Too sour?"

"Yes," Aziraphale says immediately.

Crowley sighs. "But?"

"Well, it's different," the angel says brightly. "The tartness is evident immediately, but there's a very subtle sweetness underneath. Simple sugars, polyphenols[6]... I can see why you like them, my dear."

"Does that mean you want more?" Crowley says suspiciously, clutching the bowl to his chest. "It was actually pretty hard to find[7] these, you know."

"Maybe just _one_ more," Aziraphale says, struck by an idea. "They really are very sour."

Crowley sighs, then reluctantly holds out the bowl again.

Aziraphale reaches out and, instead of taking a berry, deliberately dips two fingertips into the juice.

"Angel...?" Crowley begins forming a question, but trails off as Aziraphale moves those wet fingers upwards.

With Crowley watching him so closely, Aziraphale feels bold enough to embellish a bit: in one smooth motion, he licks the drops from his fingertips and pushes them into his mouth. Unfortunately the effect is quickly ruined; once his tongue processes the sourness, his nose wrinkles automatically.

"That's not a berry," Crowley says carefully.

Aziraphale slides his fingers back out of his mouth. "Should I try again?" he asks uncertainly.

Crowley doesn't say a word, but he's still holding the bowl out like an offering. His hand has started trembling.

As Aziraphale reaches out again, Crowley notices that the angel's fingertips are lightly stained. "Ah, you've got—" He cuts himself off as Aziraphale's soiled hand lands not on the fruit, as expected, but on the top edge of Crowley's wrist.

"Will you take your sunglasses off, my dear?" the angel asks softly. "I want to see your eyes again."

"Why?" Crowley asks, puzzled.

Aziraphale smiles at him. "They're exquisite," he says simply.

Crowley stares at him for a few moments, taken by surprise. "Are you flirting with me?" he eventually asks.

Aziraphale's smile dims a little. "Yes?"

"You'd better not be doing this because you want more cranberries," Crowley says, slightly desperately.

"Why, are they an aphrodisiac?" Aziraphale teases.

Crowley's tongue darts out to wet his lips, and the angel's eyes drop to his mouth.

"Ngk," Crowley manages.

"Sunglasses?" Aziraphale prompts gently.

Crowley's mouth is too dry for speech, so he just nods his permission.

Aziraphale lifts his hands slowly towards Crowley's face, giving him plenty of time to move away if he wants to. When he doesn't, the angel curls his fingers around the edges of the lenses and carefully slides them off Crowley's face.

The demon watches Aziraphale fold them, then place them down gently on the nearby table. "There," he says happily, as if he hasn't just shoved Crowley's world out of its orbit.

"What is this, angel?" Crowley asks quietly.

"I thought it was obvious?" Aziraphale frowns, sounding confused. "We held hands on the bus back from Tadfield. You asked me to stay."

"The bookshop was gone," Crowley protests. "Of course I asked!"

"You asked me to _stay_ ," the angel repeats, meeting Crowley's eyes. His slitted pupils are blown wide, though Aziraphale's not sure whether it's from arousal or confusion.

"But... I went to bed," Crowley says, bewildered. "Nothing happened!"

"Quite a lot happened," Aziraphale says dryly.

"I meant between the two of us!" Crowley exclaims. "Specifically!"

"I'm courting you, Crowley," Aziraphale says anxiously. "Do you... not want me to?"

"Nobody says 'courting' anymore," Crowley mutters. He's reassessing every interaction he's had with Aziraphale since they left the airbase, and coming to some unexpected conclusions.

"Seducing you, then," Aziraphale says shyly. "Is that okay? Is it working?"

"The cranberries were a poor choice," Crowley says unthinkingly. His brain is still trying to deal with the fact that _he's dating Aziraphale_. "They're obviously too sour for you."

Aziraphale's face falls. As he starts to move away, Crowley grabs his wrist.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asks, confused.

"There are blueberries in the fridge," the demon says carefully.

Aziraphale blinks at him, confused.

"Maybe you should try with those," Crowley hints. "See if they work better."

Aziraphale beams at him, his smile as radiant as the sun, then rushes off towards the kitchen.

**********

Clicking on the arrows below will bring you back to the related footnote within the text:

> [1] In fact, Crowley has never technically _un_ locked his front door; he's not bothered with a key since he bought the place in 1967. The locked door keeps his neighbours from getting too nosy, but it wouldn't dare try to keep Crowley out of his own flat. On one long, drunken night in 1969 he actually gave the door similar instructions about Aziraphale; unfortunately he wasn't able to test it, as the angel thinks of uninvited entry as rather impolite. [↩]
> 
> [2] It's not that Aziraphale finds Crowley's eyes distasteful—they're quite compelling, actually—but Aziraphale isn't very good at prolonged eye contact. He's working on it. [↩]
> 
> [3] Aziraphale has never met a street food he didn't like. Sometimes that means Crowley receives an excited call from Aziraphale at two in the morning, because he's just found out that one of his favourite vendors in [Pulau Suri](http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:http://www.malaysia.travel/en/my/places/states-of-malaysia/kelantan/floating-street-food-market) has returned from their trip and is selling Kerabu Nipah again. [↩]
> 
> [4] Crowley firmly believes that luxury items should be thoroughly used, if only so he can enjoy the horrified looks on people's faces. Aziraphale, of course, isn't 'people'; to get a similar reaction from him, Crowley would have to use a book. He even knows [which one](http://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:http://www.intriguing-history.com/the-vinegar-bible/) he'd use, but values Aziraphale's friendship too much to ever actually do it. [↩]
> 
> [5] Cranberries are most often consumed as juice, which is normally sweetened and blended with other fruit juices. [↩]
> 
> [6] Polyphenols are beneficial plant compounds with antioxidant properties. Sources include red wine, dark chocolate, coffee, apples, and caraway seeds—all things that Crowley likes. [↩]
> 
> [7] Due to their very sharp and sour taste, cranberries are rarely eaten raw; they're more commonly available frozen, dried, or powdered. [↩]

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by drawlight's [Advent Project](https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for).
> 
> #IneffableHolidays / 31 Days of Ineffables


End file.
